Second Shot at the Stone
by AMT149
Summary: SEQUEL TO REGRET'S A SECOND CHANCE. After reversing time, Harry now has a Second Chance at friendship and more with Draco. However, the new decisions made will set in motion a different set of events from the life lived the first time. Pre-Slash. ON HOLD
1. Welcome to Slytherin

Disclaimer: JKR owns all characters/places and the direct text from this story (Direct text is from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone).

A/N: So here it is! The sequel to "Regret's a Second Chance" is here! (**Warning**: if you have not read "Regret's a Second Chance" _read it first _or this will not make sense at all.) Bear with me; they're only eleven, so there will obviously be no smut. Their relationship won't start so soon. Maybe in forth year. Either way, eleven year-olds should not be shagging when they've barely met each other. Most of the text is directly out of Sorcerer's/Philosopher's Stone because the story won't change that much until different decisions are made. Since the "Second Chance" idea is based on the butterfly effect, Harry/Draco/Voldemort/etc. will have to make different decisions before their story changes. The next one will have less text from the book and I think by third year it'll be totally different. Please bear with me until we get there. I promise to post as fast as possible to make up for it ^_^

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><p><strong>Second Shot at the Stone:<strong>

_Chapter One — Welcome to Slytherin_

It was unbelievable. Harry Potter was a Slytherin. Were it not for the fact that he had reversed time for this very moment, he wouldn't have believed that he was walking over to the Slytherin house table.

The Slytherins were clapping louder than the rest of the Great Hall, their cold faces revealing a bit more interest now that he was one of them. Harry could see surprise in some faces, as if they couldn't believe the Boy-Who-Lived was in the evil house. He sat down next to Draco, who shoved Goyle down the bench to make room for Harry.

"Welcome! Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!" Dumbledore sat down. People clapped and cheered from every corner of the Great Hall.

"Is he — a bit mad?" Harry asked Draco uncertainly.

He looked scornful. "Perhaps. Father says Dumbledore's the worst thing that's happened to this place. Sure, he's a genius, but he's got to be loony if he lets mudbloods in."

"What's a mudblood?" Harry asked, slightly puzzled. He could have sworn he knew the answer but it wasn't coming to him right then.

Draco looked at him in disbelief for a second. Harry watched as realization hit him and when he spoke, his expression had softened slightly. "Oh. I forgot you don't know any of this. A mudblood is a muggle-born. Dirty blood, you know. It's disgraceful to let muggle blood mingle with ours."

"Does it make a difference?" Harry asked, wondering how Draco would answer.

"Well, I _suppose_ not in terms of power," Draco spat, "But they're just not the same. They weren't brought up with our ways. They're destroying wizarding traditions. Mix too much with muggles and mudbloods and we'll go extinct."

"I can see what you mean," Harry said slowly. "but that doesn't justify calling them a dirty name."

"Why would _you_—oh." Draco cut off, comprehension dawning on his face. "Your mother's muggle-born, isn't she?"

"Yes," said Harry, nodding stiffly.

"I won't call them that in front of you, then." He glanced at Harry's empty plate. "Do you plan on eating anytime soon?"

Harry let himself succumb to the distraction, not wanting to his happy mood to be ruined any more than it already had been. His mouth fell open. The dishes in front of him were now piled with food. He had never seen so many things he liked to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs. Harry piled his plate with a bit of everything except the peppermints and began to eat. It was all delicious and he said so to Draco, who looked at him funny.

"This is nothing compared to the food we have back at the manor." Draco waved his hand carelessly. "What have your muggles been feeding you, if it made you to eat like you've never eaten good food before? Actually, you look more like you've never eaten before, period."

"The Dursleys had never exactly had never exactly starved me, but I've never been allowed to eat as much as I liked." Harry looked down and blushed. "Dudley, my cousin, always takes anything I want, even if it makes him sick. And my aunt's not that good of a cook."

Draco was stunned. "That's horrible. I don't think I could last a day like that without hexing them. Didn't they know who you _were_?"

"You mean did they know that I was a wizard?" Draco nodded. "They did, but they hated magic and tried to get rid of mine by not telling me. _I_ didn't even know I was a wizard until I got the letter. They told me that my parents died in a car crash."

"They _what_?" Draco glared at the apple on his plate like he was pretending it was the Dursleys. It was quite a terrifying expression. "You mean they treated you like...like...like you weren't _important_?"

Harry couldn't help but smile a little at Draco's words. "They didn't like me very much." "I mostly did chores and doubled up as Dudley's favorite punching bag."

Draco's glare intensified, if that was even possible. "You're not going back to them, are you?" The desserts arrived and he immediately scooped out chocolate ice cream. This was enough of a distraction to calm him, and his face settled back into its blank mask. "I mean, since you know you're a wizard now and all."

Harry sighed. "I'll have to over break, won't I?"

Draco frowned. "Maybe you could stay with me at the Manor then."

"Could I really?" Harry asked hopefully, helping himself to a treacle tart.

"Probably. I'll write to Father about it tomorrow," Draco promised. He licked his spoon clean and added, "I always get what I want."

Harry, who was feeling warm and happy from the idea that Draco cared about him, looked up at the High Table. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet. Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.

It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell's turban straight into Harry's eyes — and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry's forehead.

"Ouch!" Harry clapped a hand to his head.

"What's wrong?" asked Draco.

"N-Nothing."

The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the feeling Harry had gotten from the teacher's look — a feeling that he didn't like Harry at all.

"Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" he asked Draco.

"Quirrell? Oh, that's Snape. He teaches Potions, but only because Dumbledore won't let him teach Defense against the Dark Arts. It's a waste of talent, that's what it is. I would know. Snape's my godfather."

"He's your godfather?"

"Yes. He's a close friend of my father's."

Harry watched Snape for a while, but Snape didn't look at him again.

At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.

"Ahem — just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Harry laughed, but he was one of the few who did.

"He's not serious?" he muttered to Draco.

"I think so. But _I'd_ want to see what it was in there." He looked at Harry suggestively.

Harry shook his head. He could still remember the risks from his alternate future and knew that what was in the hallway it wasn't all fun and games. "It sounds exciting, but I wouldn't want you to die."

Draco smiled at him but quickly stopped as Dumbledore and the rest of the school began to sing the school song, all to different melodies.

"Dreadful, isn't it?" Draco commented, laying his head on Harry's shoulder. "All those tunes jumbled together. I'm so tired I could fall asleep right here if it wasn't for the noise." Harry laughed, leaning into Draco.

"Ah, music," Dumbledore said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

"Thank goodness," Draco said, pulling Harry up from the bench to follow the Slytherin prefect through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and down a flight of stone steps. It was dark there and Harry was so tired his legs felt like lead, even with Draco's constant tugging on his hand. They walked through the gloomy dungeons, yawning and dragging their feet, and Draco was complaining about how much further they needed to walk when they paused by a stretch of bare, damp stone wall.

"Maioribus Vox," said the prefect, and a stone door concealed in the wall slid open. They walked in, finding themselves in the Slytherin common room, a long, low underground room with rough stone walls and ceiling from which round bottle green lamps were hanging on chains. A fire was crackling under an elaborately carved mantelpiece ahead of them. The room was full of high-backed chairs and low-backed black and dark green leather sofas. Buttons, skulls, and dark wood cupboards decorated the room. It has quite the grand atmosphere, but was also a little spooky.

The prefect directed the girls through one door to their dormitory and the boys through another. They walked down more steps until they found their beds at last: six four-posters hung with velvet green curtains. Their trunks had already been brought down. Draco immediately pulled Harry to the bed next to the one he'd chosen, and Crabbe and Goyle took the beds on the other side of Draco. No one paid much attention to the other two boys, who were already hidden behind the curtains of the last bed.

They pulled on their pajamas and got ready for bed. Crabbe and Goyle were already snoring by the time Harry and Draco were done. To Harry's surprise, Draco crawled up on the Harry's bed, frowning. "Do you like to wear those pajamas, or did your muggles force them on you?" He asked, eyeing the baggy pajamas that Harry was wearing.

"They're hand-me-downs of Dudley's," Harry said, slightly embarrassed next to Draco, who was in perfectly tailored, silken pajamas.

Draco walked over to his trunk, threw a pile of clothing at Harry, then implanted himself on Harry's bed again. "I think we're about the same size. Pick whatever you'd like. Or keep it all. I don't really care. Just get out of those awful rags."

Harry nodded and changed again, feeling much more comfortable in his new night clothes. He crawled under the covers with Draco, who had decided that he wasn't tired enough to stop talking yet. Harry snuggled into what was left of his pillow, since Draco was hogging most of it, not that Harry minded, and listened as Draco told him about himself. Soon, Harry fell asleep, feeling closer to the chattering blond next to him than he had ever felt before in his life.

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><p>AN: So? What do you think? Take a second and REVIEW! It really only takes a second but will help the story lots. I'm willing to take ideas and suggestions for this story if you have any, since I'm not exactly sure where it's going yet...


	2. The Brunet, The Blond, and The Ginger

Disclaimer: JKR owns all (All Direct text is from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone).

**Warning: **Mean!Ron in this chapter!

A/N: Hi! Thank you for your reviews for the last chapter and thanks to my beta DepartureGirl, whom I forgot to thank last time *flails* Sorry! Just for clarification, Harry is very open and over-caring when it comes to Draco in the beginning because he's still thinking with a 18-year-old mind because of the whole time-reversal thing. 18-year-old Harry is obsessed and in love with Draco, so his main thoughts are going to be trying to gain a place in Draco's heart. And as for why Draco is so open, well, that's explained later...

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><p><em>Chapter Two — The Brunet, The Blond, and The Ginger<em>

"There, look."

"Where?"

"Next to Malfoy."

"Wearing the glasses?"

"Did you see his face?"

"Did you see his scar?"

Whispers followed Harry from the moment he left his dormitory the next day. People lining up outside classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a look at him, or doubled back to pass him in the corridors again, staring. Harry wished they wouldn't, because he had already gone through it once and because he was having trouble finding his way to classes even though he felt as if he had walked those halls for years.

It helped that Draco was always next to him. As a Malfoy, Draco attracted a significant amount of attention himself, though the blond enjoyed it while Harry did not. Draco would parade down the halls as if he owned the place, even when he had no idea where he was going. It fooled quite a lot of people. It also helped that Crabbe and Goyle always followed not far behind them, because they scared away anyone from approaching Draco and Harry. Harry had never thought that there would be a day where he would be glad to have Crabbe and Goyle by his side, but he was.

If getting to classes on time was troublesome, the classes were even worse. There was a lot more to magic, as Harry was reminded, than waving your wand and saying a few funny words. Even though he had already taken first year Astronomy, Herbology, History of Magic, Charms, Transfiguration, and Defense Against the Dark Arts, Harry found himself struggling. His week was almost over and he was already starting to forget his life before the time-turner and it made him worry. What if he forgot all the things he needed to change this time around? Harry eventually wrote down everything he could remember in a journal for future reference, with the words _Things I Have Done Before I Reversed Time_ scrawled across the top. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but wonder if he had just been having weird dreams lately. Fortunately, Draco had been tutored before he started school and he often retaught Harry the lessons in his own way. Harry found that this was a much easier way to study and he never picked up his textbook outside of class unless Draco was nearby to help.

On Friday, Draco and Harry were sitting between Crabbe and Goyle in the Great Hall for breakfast as usual when the mail arrived. Harry had gotten used to this by now, though it had given him a bit of a shock on the first morning, when about a hundred owls had suddenly streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast, circling the tables until they saw their owners, and dropping letters and packages onto their laps. Hedwig never brought Harry anything, making him feel slightly sad as Draco opened the extravagant sweets and gifts his eagle owl brought him from home every morning. Sometimes Draco would share his sweets with Harry, which made him feel a little better. This morning, however, Hedwig fluttered down onto the table and dropped a note onto Harry's plate.

_Dear Harry,_

_I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three? I want to hear all about your first week. Send us back an answer with Hedwig._

_Hagrid_

Harry quickly pulled out a quill, scribbled _Yes, please, see you later_ on the back of the note, and sent Hedwig off again.

"Who was that from?" Draco drawled, not quite succeeding in hiding his curiosity.

"Hagrid," Harry replied, remembering Draco's reaction to the gamekeeper in the robe shop.

"What does _he_ want?" Draco sneered, a look of disdain twisting his features.

"I'm going to visit him after class," Harry replied, giving Draco a warning look. Thankfully, he took the hint and shut up. "What do we have today anyway?"

"Double Potions with the Gryffindors," Draco replied. "Snape's Head of House and he _always_ favors us. Should be an easy class."

Draco was wrong. The Potions lesson turned out to be the worst thing that had happened to Harry so far. The first time Harry saw Snape look at him, he'd assumed that the professor didn't like him. After the first class, he knew he'd been wrong. Snape didn't dislike Harry — he _hated_ him. It all started with roll call, when Snape paused at Harry's name.

"Ah, yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new — _celebrity_."

Crabbe and Goyle sniggered behind their hands until they caught Draco's icy glare, which made them promptly shut up. Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. He gave off a cold aura, as if he thought the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls weren't creepy enough to cause a chill in the room.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word; Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with it's shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses...I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death — if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

More silence followed his little speech. Harry looked around. Ron Weasley was rolling his eyes to another Gryffindor whose name Harry didn't know. Hermione Granger was on the edge of her seat and looked desperate to start proving that she wasn't a dunderhead. Crabbe and Goyle looked clueless, as usual. Draco looked uninterested. He glanced over at Harry, gave him a small smile, and went back to gazing aloofly around the room.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

_Powdered root of what to an infusion of what?_ Harry glanced at Draco, who whispered "Drought of Living Death" without moving his lips, not glancing once at Harry.

"The Drought of Living Death, sir," said Harry.

Snape's lips curled into a scowl, before speaking again. "Let's try another one, then, shall we, Potter? Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Harry looked around and noticed that there were others, such as Hermione — who had her hand raised as high into the air as it would go without her leaving her seat — who looked as if they knew the answer, but Snape merely ignored them. Harry didn't have the faintest idea what a bezoar was and he glanced at Draco again.

"Goat's stomach," Draco whispered.

Unfortunately, this time Snape heard him and he looked at the two of them with a smirk.

"Tut, tut — needing a fellow classmate to answer your questions for you? Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?" He sneered. "Very well then, Mr. Malfoy, since _you_ appear to have this basic knowledge, why don't _you_ give us the answer?"

"A bezoar is a stone found in a goat's stomach," Draco replied smoothly, giving his godfather a look.

"Correct. A bezoar will serve as an antidote to most poisons. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?" There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment as Snape began his lecture.

As the Potions lesson continued, things only got worse. Snape sneered at Harry and didn't let him work with Draco when they paired up to mix up a simple potion to cure boils, forcing him to work with Theodore Nott, the fifth boy in their dorm. He swept around in his long black cloak, finding something to criticize about everyone except for Draco. His compliments on the way Draco had stewed his horned slugs were interrupted by a boy named Neville Longbottom's melting Seamus Finnegan's cauldron into twisted blob, causing their potion to seep across the stone floor.

After snarling at Longbottom for his incompetence and sending him to the hospital wing when boils started popping up all over his nose, Snape turned and glared at Harry as if he wanted to punish him for watching. Fortunately, he didn't comment.

"Why does Snape hate me so much?" Harry asked Draco gloomily.

"He's always like that," Draco rolled his eyes. "Though I must admit he was a little harsh."

"A _little_?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Of course. He didn't let me work with you, even though he knew full well I wanted to. Wait 'till I tell Father," Draco said, lips twisting into an evil smirk.

"Well I'm going to go visit Hagrid," said Harry. "It'll probably make me feel better. Do you want to come with me?"

"I am not meeting that savage." Draco wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"He's my friend," said Harry coldly.

Draco's eyes narrowed and he scowled. "You _do_ remember what I said on the train about —"

"I don't care. I can be friends with who I want to," Harry frowned.

Giving Harry an icy glare, Draco waved him off. "Whatever. Find me when you feel like coming back." He turned and strolled away, a confused Crabbe and Goyle at his heels.

Sighing, Harry made his way across the grounds. Hagrid was happy to hear Harry talk about his first lessons. Fang, Hagrid's enormous black boarhound, kept drooling all over Harry's robes, but Harry didn't really mind; there had been worse things that happened that day, such as his argument with Draco. Harry told Hagrid about that too.

"The Malfoy boy?" said Hagrid. "Don't be listening ter his rubbish."

"I didn't. But it makes me feel bad when I made him angry at me," Harry admitted, biting his lip.

"He'll get over it," Hagrid assured him. "And if he doesn't, well, he's not worth to be yer friend anyway."

Harry nodded, letting the subject drop though he still felt a bit queasy. A piece of paper lying on the table under the tea cozy caught his attention. It was a cutting from the _Daily Prophet_. _Gringotts Break-In Latest _was printed across the top in think bold letters. Reading it quickly, Harry gasped. "Hagrid! This Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It might've been happening while we were there!"

Hagrid didn't meet Harry's eyes. He grunted and started talking about something else, but all Harry could think about was the article. It stated that the theft was unsuccessful only due the vault being emptied earlier that day. His mind wouldn't leave the memory of vault seven hundred and thirteen. More specifically, of the grubby little package that Hagrid had emptied the vault of that day.

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While walking back to the castle for dinner, Harry mulled over what to do if Draco was still miffed at him. He was so deep in thought that he didn't see where he was going and walked right into someone in the corridor. "Sorry," he quickly apologized before recognizing the unmistakable flaming red hair. "Ron?"

The blue eyes narrowed. "Watch where you're going, _Potter_."

"Ron, about the thing on the train with Draco, I can explain —" Harry started to say but was promptly cut off.

"Oh, there's no need." Ron spat. "_My_ family's not as good as _Malfoy's_. I get it."

"That's not what —"

"If you didn't want to be my friend, you didn't need to _pretend_ that you did," Ron muttered angrily. There was an undertone of hurt in his voice.

"Ron —"

Ron cut him off again, gaining volume. "You're just another one of them! A filthy snake, that's what you are!" His shouting was starting to attract an audience. Harry tried to speak again but Ron didn't let him. "You go around _hurting_ people for _fun_. The Boy-Who-Lived is just another dirty, scum-sucking —"

"Weasley."

Everyone turned to see a dangerous-looking Draco Malfoy coming down the hallway. He was flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, who looked ready to attack once their boss gave a nod.

Ron narrowed his eyes at the blond. "Piss off, Malfoy."

"No, I don't think so," Draco drawled. "Really, Weasley, didn't your mother teach you any manners? But then again a blood traitor family like the Weasleys _wouldn't_ have any proper etiquette."

"Don't you insult my family!"

"Touchy, now, are we?" sneered Draco.

"This doesn't involve you!" shouted Ron. Anger lit up his eyes like fire.

"But of course it involves me. You're hurting something that belongs to me," said Draco with a chilling icy tone. "Just wait until Father hears about this. I can't wait to see what he'd do to you. A fitting welcome-to-school present, don't you think?"

Ron whipped his wand out and pointed at Draco, who laughed coldly. "Shut up, Malfoy."

"Ooh, I'm so scared. What if he sends sparks at me? Oh, the horror," gasped Draco, pretending to swoon and fall over as Crabbe and Goyle laughed.

"Stop it, both of you." Harry stepped between them. He turned to put a hand on Draco's arm but looked at Ron. "Just let it go."

Ron slipped his wand back into his pocket and stormed off, although, judging from his scowl, it was more likely because he didn't know any hexes and less to do with Harry's words. Draco merely sneered at Ron's retreating figure before turning to Harry, his evil smirk still tugging at his lips. "You alright?"

"Yeah. You shouldn't have done that, you know," Harry sighed, looking down the hall where Ron had left.

"He deserved it," Draco said firmly. "Malfoys and Weasleys don't get along. Add that to you being my best friend and that prat's got it coming for him."

"I wanted to stay friends with him."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Regretful?"

"No," Harry said quickly, "No. It's just that...he was so nice at first. I wish he'd let me explain."

"He's just jealous of that fact that you're mine," Draco said smugly.

Harry smiled a bit at Draco's possessiveness; he was glad Draco cared so much about him and he couldn't help but notice the fluttery feeling in his stomach when Draco grabbed his arm and dragged him sophisticatedly into the Great hall.

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><p>AN: I apologize for Ron. He's not evil in this story, I promise, he's just treating Harry the same way he treats Malfoy because he thinks Harry's evil. And Ron's always been narrow-minded.

Also, I'm leaving for a vacation for maybe two months and I doubt that I can update this while I'm there, so therefore I am posting this WAY earlier than I planned...I didn't want to leave my readers hanging after the first chapter...

Review and I'll made a Wizards Oath to write faster!


	3. Soaring Up and Crashing Down

Disclaimer: JKR owns all (Direct text is from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone).

A/N: I updated this even though I'm on vacation. I couldn't leave you guys hanging for two whole months, apparently. Now I'm behind on my writing schedule. This is the first chapter with Draco POV and it's a long chapter! *squee* It is a thanks to my awesome Beta DepartureGirl and my Reviewers...they are my fuel :)

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><p><em>Chapter Three — Soaring Up and Crashing Down<em>

Harry didn't think he could be any happier with his life. He and Draco were inseparable. They sat by each other in classes, ate together at meals, studied together in the common room, and sometimes they even end up sharing a bed because talked all night until they fell asleep. They had both made friends with all the other Slytherins in their year, although they all seemed to like Draco more than they did Harry. It bothered Harry a bit, but in the end he didn't mind; Draco liked him better than the rest and their housemates were all nice to him in a way that no one before he recieved his Hogwarts letter had treated him before. Harry's grades were always good due to Draco's brilliant tutoring, although he could never help Harry with Potions; Harry could never grasp the theory or remember the instructions no matter how much it was explained. He seemed to always be distracted by Snape and Ron's glares, and when he messed up, their taunts. It didn't matter very much to Harry. He would try to be nice to Ron when they crossed paths in Potions but it didn't really matter too much to Harry what Ron thought anymore. First-year Slytherins and Gryffindors didn't have any classes together except for Potions, so Harry and Draco didn't have any more run-ins with Ron.

Draco sat down on Harry's bed Saturday morning as he wrote in his journal _— _which was really a stack of parchment tied together _— _about another weird dream he had. It was about Draco flying around with some kind of glass ball. "What are you writing?"

"I've been having weird dreams lately," Harry replied, not looking up.

"What kind of dreams?" Draco asked, trying to read the journal.

"They're strange. I'm always a Gryffindor in them and you're an evil prat to everyone," Harry glanced up at Draco.

"You were a _Gryffindor_?" Draco looked scandalized. "And I am not an evil prat." He narrowed his eyes.

"Not to me, anyway," Harry chuckled. "In my latest one, you stole something from Longbottom —he's a Gryffindor — during flying lessons and flew away from it. I yelled at you when you wouldn't give it to me and you made me dive for it."

"You yelled at me, you deserved it," Draco sniffed. Harry laughed.

The blond's eyes widened as another thought caught up with him. "Harry! I forgot to tell you; flying lessons start on Thursday!" He looked like he would be bouncing up and down if it wasn't for the infamous Malfoy self-control. "We'll be having them with the Gryffindors. I'll just _bet_ Weasley's horrible on a broom. Not as good as me, anyway. Did I tell you about the time when I got chased by a muggle helicopter? It would have crashed into me if it wasn't for my dive..."

Harry's stomach plummeted as Draco launched into another flying story. He had heard millions of stories about Draco flying and it sounded like he was really good at it. Harry had been looking forward to learning how to fly but now that it was here, he suddenly wished he didn't have to. Making a fool of himself on a broom in front of both Draco and Ron seemed like a very, very bad idea.

"...and then I dipped underneath — Harry, are you listening to me?" Draco frowned at Harry's expression. "What's wrong?"

"Just a little nervous," Harry said, not willing to admit more. "I've never flown before."

Draco blinked. "Oh. That's right. You said you didn't have a broom that time at Madame Malkin's."

Harry bit his lip, waiting for Draco to scorn him.

To his surprise, the other boy merely shrugged, indifference spreading over his face. "So, let's go flying."

"We can't," said Harry, confused. "We're not allowed brooms."

Draco smirked. "I told you I'd bully Father into letting me bring one. It wasn't that hard to smuggle in, you know."

"You'd teach me how to fly?" Harry stared at his friend with wide eyes.

"Sure. It's easy," Draco waved him off. "We'll sneak out tonight."

"But Filch might catch us."

"He'll never know. All Slytherins have snuck out before and haven't been caught. We won't, either," Draco promised. He snuggled into Harry and peered at the journal. "Now, tell me some more about these crazy dreams of yours."

xXxXxXx

Flying under the stars was marvelous, in Draco's opinion. He made a quick loop in the air, showing off for Harry. He could feel the wind whipping through his silken locks. He had purposely left the gel out tonight, having been told countless times that he looked handsome, even as a child, with windblown hair.

After a few more tricks in the air, Draco finally landed back on the ground of the Quidditch pitch next to the awed brunet.

"You look amazing when you fly," Harry said, the slight flush in his cheeks barely visible in the moonlight. Draco barely kept from preening at the praise.

"Come here." He got off the broom and held it out. He watched impatiently as Harry took the broom from him with trembling fingers and straddled it. "Good. Just hold on tight and kick off from the ground and try to keep the broom steady by balancing your weight."

Draco watched as Harry kicked off and hesitated in the air for a moment. _He's a natural_, Draco realized as Harry pulled the broom up higher into the air and steered his way around the pitch cautiously but nearly effortlessly. Draco was happy for his friend but he couldn't help but feel a little irritated that Harry didn't even need his help. Harry had no reason to be nervous. He looked like a beautiful dark angel floating around in slow circles in the moonlight.

Draco shook the thought from his head. It was wrong to be sappy and emotional. His father had always taught him that emotions were a weakness. When he got himself under control again, he waved to Harry who flew over to him. "Having fun?"

Harry grinned. "This is easier than I thought. How do I land?"

"Lean forward a bit."

Harry landed on the grass smoothly, climbing off and handing the broom back to Draco. "That was fun. Can we do this again tomorrow night?"

"I don't know," Draco said hesitantly. "I don't think you need me to teach you at all." He silently chastised himself for sounding so bitter.

"Maybe we can borrow someone's broom and then we could fly together? You could give me pointers," Harry suggested.

Draco sighed. "If you can find someone who'll lend you a broom without asking too many questions, we'll come out here again tomorrow."

xXxXxXx

Draco didn't expect Harry to hold him to his word about flying. The blond was sitting on his bed in his favorite green silk pajamas reading a book to the light of a lumos and wondering where Harry could possibly be this late in the night when said Slytherin stuck his head through the curtains of Draco's four-poster.

"I thought we were going flying again," Harry mumbled, white teeth worrying his lower lip as he noticed Draco's nightclothes.

Setting his book down carefully, Draco looked at his friend. He was a little surprised at the disappointment on Harry's face. Was it really such a big deal to the other boy? "You didn't tell me you found a broom," he said, trying to think up an excuse quickly.

"Oh. Turns out Theo snuck in a broom too. He said I could borrow it at night as long as I didn't get caught and get it confiscated," Harry explained. "Are we still going out to fly then?"

"Yes, I suppose. Just let me change."

When they finally made it out to the Quidditch pitch without getting caught, Harry jumped on his broom and took off, looping back grinning and calling to Draco, "Well, what are you waiting for?"

Draco grinned and pushed off, making swift, spiraling circles around Harry and laughing all the way.

"Dizzy yet?" Draco taunted, flying upside-down so he could see Harry while flying above him.

"I will be if you don't stop flying like a madman," laughed Harry. "I said let's fly together, not around me."

Draco chuckled at Harry's words and turned right-side-up as he descended until he was level with Harry. "It's not my fault you're slow," he complained, but with a playful edge to his voice.

"_Slow_?" Harry scoffed. "You're going to regret that." He suddenly took off with a blast of speed, shooting forward like lightning.

Not to be outdone, Draco darted after him, gaining the lead after a few minutes. "You can't outdo me, Potter!" he shouted.

Harry sped up even faster, surpassing Draco yet again. "Are you sure about that, Malfoy?" he yelled back. Draco laughed, his competitive instincts pulling him into the race.

The two of them raced around the pitch, darting ahead of each other for hours until they were both so tired they crash-landed into the grass. Draco looked over to Harry, who was staring straight upwards. "What are you looking at?" Draco whispered, not wanting to break the beautiful silence.

"The stars," Harry replied. He pointed a finger straight upwards. "There's you: Draco."

Draco didn't know how he felt about that. It seemed a little strange for it to be said that way but Harry's appraising tone touched his heart. He looked up at the sky too. "Too bad you don't have a constellation."

Harry scoffed, finally turning his head away to look at Draco. "Constellation Harry? That sounds horrible. Draco sounds so much better. Your name is beautiful, you know."

It took all the self-control he had to keep Draco from grinning like an idiot. "We'll find something for you. Let's go back inside."

Harry nodded, pushing himself up from the ground before giving Draco a hand up. "Can we do this again?" He asked as they snuck their way back down to the dungeons.

"Sure," Draco smirked. "You'll never beat me, though. Not even if you try every night."

"You didn't win tonight," Harry pointed out.

"You didn't either." Draco's smirk grew wider. They had reached their dorm now and were quietly stowing away their brooms and changing into suitable sleepwear.

"I will tomorrow," Harry promised with a sly look out of the corner of his eye when he crawled onto his bed.

"We'll see about that." Draco grinned as he slipped in next to his best friend.

xXxXxXx

Breakfast on Thursday morning was a nervous time for the first years all around the great hall. Harry wasn't worried; he and Draco had continued their nightly races the whole week. Neither boy won; both were as fast as the other. Harry got to be quite good on a broom, copying most of Draco's tricks in the air. Harry was confident that he would put on a good show in front of the Gryffindors.

Draco wasn't nervous either. He complained loudly about first years never getting on the House Quidditch teams and told long, boastful stories to the rest of their housemates, who, Harry knew, all looked up to Draco. His latest story, another one about Muggle helicopters, was interrupted by the mail. Harry watched jealously as Draco opened his daily care package from home. He hadn't gotten a single letter other than Hagrid's note all year.

"Italian chocolate...French raspberry crèmes...dragon hide gloves...more chocolate...ah, here it is." Draco pulled out a smaller box out; this one was wrapped in emerald green paper and tied with a silver bow. "Here, this is for you." He handed the box to Harry.

"For me?" Harry asked, examining the package. "What is it?"

"Open it."

Harry did as Draco asked. "A book?" he asked incredulously. It wasn't that Harry disliked reading; it was just that he couldn't find it in him to read _everything _like Draco could.

"It's a journal, idiot," Draco rolled his eyes. "It's charmed. Only opens to whatever password you set it to, the words only show up to your touch and all that. The one you use is tattered and ugly."

"Oh." Harry fingered the smooth, dark green, leather cover of the book. _A Journal by Harry James Potter_ appeared in elegant lettering. Harry smiled. "Thank you."

Draco smiled back, before directing Harry's attention across the hall with a nod. "Look what Longbottom's got. It looks the ball from your dreams, eh?"

Harry stared at the pudgy boy sitting at the Gryffindor table. He was holding up a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seemed to be full of white smoke. "Yeah. Strange."

He turned back to Draco and saw the wicked sparkle in the grey eyes. "Come with me," Draco whispered quickly in Harry's ears before getting up and walking across the hall. Crabbe and Goyle, the blind followers they were, followed the second they saw Draco move. Nervous about what Draco was about to do, he scurried after the blond Slytherin.

As he passed the Gryffindor table, Draco snatched the Remembrall out of Longbottom's hand.

"What are you doing?" Harry hissed in the blond's ear.

"I'll give it back, don't worry."

Ron, who was sitting next to Longbottom, jumped up to his feet, looking ready to pound the pulp out of Draco. His hopes were dashed when Professor McGonagall, who could spot trouble quicker than any teacher in the school, except perhaps Snape, was there in a flash.

"What's going on?"

"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor."

Smirking, Draco quickly dropped the Rememberall back on the table.

"Just looking," he drawled, and he sloped away with Harry by his side and Crabbe and Goyle behind him. Once they were out of earshot, Draco leaned over. "That was _exactly_ how your dream went, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," Harry said, astonished.

"Do you think you could be a seer?" asked Draco thoughtfully.

"Seer?"

"You know, see the future."

"No, I don't think so," Harry said. "In my dream, I was a Gryffindor, remember?"

Draco scowled. "I suppose that's true. Pity."

xXxXxXx

At three-thirty in the afternoon, Harry, Draco, and the other Slytherins stood on the smooth, flat lawn opposite of the grounds to the forbidden forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance. They watched coldly as the Gryffindors trampled their way down the sloping lawns. Twenty broomsticks lay in neat lines on the ground. Harry had heard the older years' stories about the school brooms, saying that some of them started to vibrate if you flew too high and throw you off, or always flew tilted to the left so you had to ride sideways. He wasn't sure he believed any of them, although he had to admit they looked old with some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles and wouldn't fly as well as Theo's or Draco's sleeker, newer brooms.

Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. "Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up." She paused to wait for them to line up. "Stick out your right hand over your broom and say 'Up!'"

"UP!" everyone shouted.

Harry's broom jumped into his hand at once, but it was one of the few that did. Hermione Granger's had simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville Longbottom's hadn't moved at all. Perhaps brooms, like horses, could tell when you were afraid, thought Harry; there was a quaver in Longbottom's voice that said only too clearly that he wanted to keep his feet on the ground. Ron's broom missed his hand completely and whacked him in the nose, causing Draco to snicker.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. Draco had scowled and glared when she told him he'd been doing it wrong for years.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle — three — two —"

But Longbottom, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips.

"Come back, Boy!" she shouted, but Longbottom was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle — twelve feet — twenty feet. Harry saw his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slip sideways off the broom and —

WHAM — a thud and a nasty crack and Neville lay facedown on the grass in a heap. His broomstick was still rising higher and higher, and started to drift lazily toward the forbidden forest and out of sight.

Madam Hooch was bending over Neville, her face as white as his.

"Broken wrist," Harry heard her mutter. "Come on, boy — it's all right, up you get."

She turned to the rest of the class.

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."

Longbottom, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him.

No sooner were they out of earshot than Draco burst into laughter.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?"

The other Slytherins joined in.

"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Parvati Patil.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced Slytherin girl who was always following Draco around. "Never thought _you'd_ like fat little cry-babies, Parvati."

"Look!" said Draco, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."

The Rememberall glittered in the sun as he held it up.

"What are you doing?" whispered Harry furiously. "There's no need to be mean to them."

"How do you feel about a little role-play?" Draco smirked at Harry's frown.

"If we get expelled, it's your fault," Harry narrowed his eyes but sighed and gave in when Draco merely raised an eyebrow, showing full intention of throwing caution to the wind. "Give that here, Draco," he said, a little louder but still quietly. At least he could help get the Rememberall back if he played along. Everyone stopped talking to watch. Was a Slytherin sticking up for a Gryffindor?

Draco smiled nastily.

"I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find — how about — up a tree?"

"Give it _here_!" Harry yelled in what the others would guess — incorrectly — as anger. Draco had leapt onto his broomstick and taken off. Hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak he called, "Come and get it, Harry!" His eyes glinted wickedly and it reminded Harry of their broom races. He knew what Draco was doing now.

Harry grabbed his broom.

"_No!_" shouted Hermione Granger. "Madam Hooch told us not to move — you'll get us in trouble and you'll be expelled."

Harry ignored her. He mounted the broom and kicked hard against the ground and up, up he soared; air rushed through his hair, and his robes whipped out behind him — and in a rush of the excitement he always felt when he and Draco competed, he turned his broomstick sharply to face Draco in midair. Draco looked pleased.

"Give it here," Harry called, "or I'll knock you off that broom!"

"Oh, yeah?" said Draco with a fake sneer.

Harry leaned forward and grasped the broom tightly in both hands, and it shot toward Draco like a javelin. Draco waited until the last split second to flip away in a series of complicated loops, which Harry predicted and flew his own formations between them. In and out of each other's paths they weaved, racing once again. The people below were standing in awe as they watched.

Suddenly, Draco stopped and Harry flew past him. Realizing his mistake, Harry made a sharp about-face and held the broom steady. A few people below clapped.

"No one up here to save your neck, Draco," Harry called.

"You can't best _me,_ Harry," Draco teased. Harry narrowed his eyes and got ready to shoot toward Draco again when Draco shouted. "Catch it if you can!" He threw the glass ball high into the air and streaked towards it.

Harry saw, as though in slow motion, the ball rise up in the air and then started to fall. He leaned forward and pointed his broom handle down — next second he was gathering speed in a steep dive, racing Draco to the ball — wind whistled in his ears, mingled with the screams of people watching — he stretched out his hand, trying to win their latest race — a foot from the ground, Draco and Harry's hands closed on the Rememberall from both sides, they barely managed to pull their brooms straight during their collision and they toppled gently onto the grass with the Rememberall clutched safely in their joined fist.

"POTTER! MALFOY!"

His heart sank faster than he'd just dived. Draco looked worried but was trying to keep it from showing on his face. Professor McGonagall was running toward them. They got to their feet, trembling.

"_Never_ — in all my time at Hogwarts —"

Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock, and her glasses flashed furiously, "— how _dare_ you — might have broken your neck —"

Harry shot Draco an _I-told-you-we'd-get-caught_ look and was answered with a shrug and a feeble smile.

"Potter, Malfoy, follow me, now."

Harry caught sight of Ron's triumphant faces as they left, walking numbly in Professor McGonagall's wake as she strode toward the castle. He was going to be expelled, he just knew it. Why did he feel like he had to best Draco every time they raced? He wanted to say something to defend himself, but there seemed to be something wrong with his voice. Professor McGonagall was sweeping along without even looking at either of them; he had to jog to keep up and Draco was walking with quick strides. He hadn't even lasted two weeks. He'd be packing his bags in ten minutes. What would the Dursleys say when he turned up on the doorstep?

Up the front steps, down the stone steps inside, and still Professor McGonagall didn't say a word to them. She wrenched open doors and marched along corridors with the two Slytherins trotting miserably behind her. Maybe she was taking them to Dumbledore. He thought of Hagrid, expelled but allowed to stay on as gamekeeper. Draco, a pure-blood whose family assured him a place in the wizarding world even if he was expelled. Harry, on the other hand, would be forced out of the new life he'd found.

Professor McGonagall stopped outside Snape's classroom in the dungeons. "Excuse me, Professor Snape, could I borrow you for a moment?"

Harry wanted to slam his head against the wall. If it was up to Snape, Harry was sure he had no chance. Draco looked reassured, but of course he was. The man _liked_ Draco.

"Well, well, what have we here?" Snape sneered as he swept out of his classroom.

"These boys have been flying," Professor McGonagall said sternly. "Madam Hooch left strict instructions for them to stay on the ground as she escorted Neville Longbottom to the medical wing. Needless to say, these boys felt they did not need to listen."

"Flying, you say?" Snape asked. Harry couldn't tell what the potions master was planning to do to them.

"Yes. These boys here caught that thing in their hands after a fifty-foot dive. They could have broken their necks!"

Snape's lips pulled into an evil smirk.

"Thank you for informing me, Minerva, as their head of house, I will take over from here." Snape's voice was cold but it carried a delighted tone, one he always adopted after embarrassing Harry in front of the class.

McGonagall nodded once and left the Dungeons.

"My office. Now," Snape snapped before turning with a dramatic swish of his robes.

When they reached Snape's office, which was cold and somber-looking, Draco spoke up. "Professor, we're both perfectly capable on a broom. There's no reason to punish us. We didn't even get a single scratch..." Snape's black eyes glared Draco down until the boy shut up.

"What you have done was utterly...stupid. However," Snape said "you are lucky that I am in a good mood and I will allow you to recount the events of your flying class. Mr. Malfoy, care to do the honors?"

Draco glanced at Harry before taking a deep breath and speaking. He told Snape how he had picked up Longbottom's Rememberall and how he and Harry had raced in the air. He explained that because he wanted a real race and not merely plebian chasing, he threw the Rememberall up in the air and he and Harry dived and caught it together.

Snape's smirk grew as Draco told their story. When all was recounted for, Snape looked absolutely pleased. "You both caught the Rememberall after a fifty-foot dive?"

"Yes, Sir," the boys replied in unison.

"Good," Snape said, smiling. It made Harry want to run in the other direction as fast as he could. "I think the Slytherin Quidditch team could warrant a new seeker. If you accept the spot, I believe I can ask Dumbledore to see if we can bend the rules for first years."

Draco looked ecstatic. Then he caught Harry looking at him from the corner of his eye and coughed. "But, sir, there's two of us."

"Ah, yes, that _will_ be a problem, won't it?" Snape sneered. "Perhaps I shall pick the one more fitting, then. Mr. Malfoy, would you care to play seeker for the Slytherin team?"

Harry gaped at Snape. He could not _believe_ the great greasy git. Sure, Snape hated him, but this just wasn't fair. He and Draco had caught the Rememberall _at the same time_.

Fuming, Harry turned to Draco, expecting the blond to stick up for him and question Snape's reasoning or possibly — _possibly _— turn down the offer in the name of equality. What he did not expect to see was Draco grinning like he had been told Christmas had come early and say, "Why, yes, Professor, I would _love_ to."

* * *

><p>AN: Ahh...Firstly, would anyone like me to add an A/N in the next chap explaining how the Reveral Potion works? because it does affect Harry's actions in the beginning.

Also...I'm a little worried for the response for this chapter. *ducks thrown objects*. Hey! I gave you fluff at the beginning! Review and let the love/hate mail roll in...


	4. The Know It All

Disclaimer: JKR owns all. (All Direct text is from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone)

A/N: So I was bored and I wasn't done writing a new chapter for "Birthday Love Calendar" (yeah, I know, I'm self rec-ing) so I updated this. A great big thank you to my beta DepartureGirl, because without her, this chapter would have AK'ed itself. Didn't get much response to my question at the end of last chapter, so if you could all just take an extra second and answer any questions I ask in addition to your comments, it would be very helpful to my writing a better story.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Four — The Know-It-All <em>

Draco couldn't believe his luck. Thank Merlin that his godfather was head of house. Any other teacher would have picked Harry over him without hesitation and even that was on the off chance that they didn't expel both boys.

"Why, yes, Professor, I would _love_ to," Draco said, so excited that he had to force himself not to squeal like a Hufflepuff. His father was going to be proud. Draco would be the youngest House player in about a century if Dumbledore allowed it, and he wasn't about to let that honor slip from his fingertips.

"_What_?" Harry growled. He turned to Snape. "That's completely unfair!"

Draco winced. He had been too caught up in his own good fortune to consider Harry's reaction.

"I believe I did not ask your opinion on the matter, Mr. Potter," Snape snapped. "Go back to class."

Harry glared at Snape, stomping out of the room in a huff. Draco looked to his godfather for permission to leave, who responded with a nod. He took off down the hallway after his angry friend.

"Harry! Wait up!"

Harry continued to storm down the hall. Draco huffed, "What is _wrong_ with you?"

Harry spun around angrily mid-step, nearly causing Draco to walk straight into him.

"What's wrong with _me_?" Harry's eyes were green fire. "What's wrong with _you_? We're both fit for the spot and you know it!"

"You're angry because I got chosen for the Slytherin Seeker instead of you?" Draco snarled.

"No," Harry snapped, "I'm angry because you didn't care about the unfairness of it."

"Well, we can't _both_ be seeker and Professor Snape thought I was the better choice."

"Oh, right, because the fact that Snape hates me didn't affect his judgment at _all_." Harry rolled his eyes.

"You don't even _know_ how to play Quidditch." Draco snorted.

"I can learn."

"That will waste practice time."

"If you've forgotten, I learned how to fly just as well as you can in two days," Harry reminded Draco. "I think that qualifies me as a fast learner."

"If you're a fast learner, then why do you need me to reteach you all of our lessons?" Draco countered, raising an eyebrow. "Face it, Potter. We can both fly just as well but I know how the game is played and I've had years of practice. I don't care if it bothers you; _I am_ the better choice."

"I'm your best friend and you care about besting me more than my feelings? Thanks a lot, Draco. I'm glad I mean so much to you." Draco held in a wince as Harry turned and stomped away again.

Draco stood there, not knowing what he should have said. Alright, so he had been jealous of Harry's easy talent on a broom and had worried over who would be the better flier in the long run. He had thought that he could live with what they had now since they couldn't try out for Quidditch until second year anyway. He knew Snape was biased in his opinion about Harry and would much rather help his godson than the boy Snape hated. Draco could admit to himself that much of what Harry said was true but it wasn't as if Draco could have done anything about it. Besides, Draco wanted that seeker spot and it had never even crossed his mind that he would turn it down even though he didn't exactly achieve it by fair means. He, unlike Harry, already knew was a good seeker and, well, this was the _Slytherin_ team. Slytherins didn't do 'fairness and equality' in the same fashion as Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs.

Sastified with his reasoning, Draco checked his schedule and walked to Charms, deciding he could wait until Harry calmed down enough to come back to him again. It couldn't take long; Slytherins were known for staying within their own house since everyone considered them different from the other three houses. And all of the Slytherins followed _him_, not Harry. Harry would have to come back to him. Nothing would go wrong. Nothing _could_ go wrong, could it?

xXxXxXx

Harry sat stiffly at his desk in Potions. It had been three days since the broom incident. He still refused to talk to Draco but decided it wasn't worth the trouble to move to a different seat. Draco's calm demeanor throughout the time wasn't helping Harry's temper. How dare the blond sit there as if nothing had happened? Did he not care at all? Harry was hurt but stubbornly refused to give in. If Draco didn't come to him, he would just have to find some new friends.

The problem with this plan was that Harry had no other friends. He was friendly with the other Slytherins but they were all much more loyal to Draco than they were to him. They only talked to him when it was completely evident Draco would not punish them. This meant they could only talk when people who could report back to Draco were not around and when the Slytherin Prince himself was not present. Harry required a partner for group work in classes and Theo, whom made a little more effort than the others to talk to Harry, usually took pity on him and offered to be his partner. However, Theo wasn't very good as his classes and always studied alone. Without Draco's constant tutoring, Harry's grades made a significant drop.

It was this that brought Harry into the Library that Saturday evening. He walked up to a table where a bushy-haired girl sat alone, large volumes of books spread out in front of her.

"Hello," Harry said pleasantly, "You're Hermione Granger, right?"

"Yes," Hermione answered, peering at the Slytherin crest on his robes suspiciously. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah, actually," Harry smiled, ignoring her skeptical look. He took the chair next to Hermione's and pulled out his Potions textbook. "You see, I don't understand any of what we went over in class today. You always know what you're doing, so I thought you could explain it to me."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, still disbelieving. "You get good marks in Potions. And Professor Snape's _your_ head of house. Why don't you ask him? Or Malfoy?" she added as an afterthought. "He's your best friend, isn't he? He certainly gets praised much more than _I_ do." She frowned and her tone was irked.

"Snape and I don't get along, as you've probably seen in class," Harry said, wrinkled his nose. "And Draco usually tutors me, but we've had a fight recently and he won't talk to me."

"Oh." Harry could tell she wanted very much to pry, though she didn't ask any more about it. Instead, she scooted her chair closer and flipped open his textbook. "Let's start with this potion. Now, this potion removes boils, mainly due to the wormwood reacting to the active ingredient, which is the banshee saliva..."

Hermione's Potions lesson lasted for nearly three hours, much longer than it would have been if it was Draco who was teaching. Hermione was a tedious teacher but she knew what she was talking about. After studying for Potions, Hermione was less wary of any ulterior motives Harry might have and relaxed a bit.

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry sighed when he finally finished Snape's latest essay. He cast a Temprus and groaned softly when he realized they still had a full hour left before curfew. "Er...do you think you could help me with Transfiguration? I don't quite understand the theory of Switching Spells."

Hermione looked up. "Can we do this tomorrow?" She glanced longingly at the book she had just cracked open.

"Oh. Er...yeah, I guess," Harry stood, trying to think of ways to stall.

Hermione put her book down. "Potter—"

"Harry."

"Harry," Hermione corrected, "you're not really here because you want to study, are you?"

"No. Not exactly," Harry admitted. "I came because I don't really have any friends other than Draco."

"So you came to me?" Hermione asked, incredulous. "What about the other Slytherins? Wouldn't you get along better with them?"

"Well...I am friends — sort of — with the other Slytherins. But they follow Draco, not me. And I just know you're nice enough and you — well, you don't really have any other friends either..." Harry trailed off, worried he might have offended the Gryffindor. Hermione stiffened but made no response, so Harry continued, "In truth, my grades were slipping because Draco usually helps me with my lessons and I know you like to study, so I kind of used that as an excuse to ask you if we could be friends." Harry blushed and tugged on his fringe.

Hermione regarded him with raised eyebrows for a few minutes as she considered his reasoning before giving him a small smile. "I suppose we could give it a try."

Harry grinned and tackled her with a bear hug. "Thanks."

Surprised, but laughing, Hermione hugged him back. "So, a Gryffindor and a Slytherin. According to _Hogwarts: A History_, that doesn't happen often. At least not after Salazar Slytherin left."

"I don't see why Gryffindors and Slytherins can't be friends. I mean, the more minions the better, eh?" he teased, earning a mock slap from Hermione.

"Shut it, you," she giggled. "Do you actually need help on Switching Spells or not?"

"I wasn't lying about that," Harry ran a hand through his hair and sighed, "I can never do them correctly."

Hermione grinned. "Well, I guess I don't mind helping."

Harry's eyes lit up. They chatted as they worked and Harry felt so much better compared to the past few days he didn't realize they'd lost track of time until Madam Pince kicked them out of the library. After waving bye to his new friend, Harry took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, heading back to Slytherin territory.

xXxXxXx

_Draco,_

_Dumbledore has agreed to allow you to play as Slytherin seeker, despite your being a first year. Marcus Flint will meet you tonight on the Quidditch field at seven o'clock for your first training session. Do not flaunt your new position. It will be an advantage and a surprise for the other houses during our first match._

_Professor Snape_

Draco sighed mentally as he folded up the note his eagle owl had brought him and shoved it into his pocket. He couldn't even muster up enough joy to gloat, never mind what his godfather said about keeping his new position a surprise. Harry was still refusing to talk to him. A part of him —a very small part, mind you — wanted to just give in and apologize to get his best friend back. He might have actually done so if Harry hadn't been talking to the Gryffindor Know-It-All when he walked into the Great Hall as if Draco didn't exist. That pissed Draco off. Harry was supposed to be _his_ best friend. No one _dared_ to take what belonged to a Malfoy and especially not mudbloods like that Hermione Granger.

Draco could almost hear his father's voice in his head reprimanding him for getting so attached to someone after only knowing him for a few weeks. Draco himself wasn't sure why he cared so much about Harry. When Draco had seen him that day in Madame Malkin's, he had felt drawn to Harry. He could tell by the way the boy dressed and answered his questions that he hadn't grown up among proper wizards. Usually, that was enough to prove that once again, his father was right; purebloods were definitely more superior to those grown up among muggles. With Harry, however, Draco had desperately wanted to impress the other boy so that he would consider Draco a valuable acquaintance. Then on the train, Draco learned that the boy was Harry Potter, of all people. It worried him that this boy, the one he was so fascinated with, was the one who caused his father's past master's downfall and one with such fame as well. He must have people everywhere falling to his feet. Why would he choose Draco when there were so many others who were known to be on the side of the light? Nevertheless, he brushed that aside — the Dark Lord was dead, it shouldn't matter — pulled all his courage together and asked for the other boy's hand in friendship. How it had scared him when Harry had seemed to appreciate Weasley more. Draco had had to work to keep his face in the infamous Malfoy mask — cool, confident, and collected. And then Harry had taken his hand, and he'd nearly collapsed with relief of being accepted.

Draco banished these memories with an impatient shake of the head. Harry had to be just another friend. A friend who, apparently, didn't care about Draco as much as Draco cared about him.

Draco stole a glance at said friend, who was eating and smiling as if all was fine and dandy in the world. That would not do. Draco had to win Harry back from the mudblood's clutches, and soon. Pleased with his Slytherin thinking, Draco picked up a green apple from a basket and took a happy bite as he started to plan.

xXxXxXx

Seven o'clock couldn't come more slowly in Draco's opinion. He had finished his homework _ages_ ago and he was bored. Before Harry's betrayal, Draco would still be explaining theories to him or they would be exploring the halls together. Now, Draco had absolutely nothing to do. Greg and Vince were both good companions, but with their intelligence levels somewhat — alright, _very_ — lacking, it was very hard to have a suitable conversation with them. Pansy and Blaise were like a brother and sister to him, as they had grown up together. Unfortunately, they too, were out of the question because they were a package deal and after hanging out with Harry, who was much more independent, he was not quite used to Pansy's clingyness and it made Draco want to conjure a wall between them. As for Theo, Draco had suspicions that he was just sucking up to Draco and actually took Harry's side in the argument, even though it was obvious the other boy had no idea what the argument was _about_.

Deciding to get some early practice before meeting with Flint, Draco grabbed his now-approved Comet Two Sixty and practice snitch and rushed down to the Quidditch pitch. Flying would clear his head of depressing thoughts.

After what seemed like hours of flying, Draco landed back down on the grass for a break.

"Malfoy."

Draco turned around. "Flint," he acknowledged.

"So you're the new seeker?" Draco gave a stiff nod. "Well let's see what you've got, shall we?" Flint raised an eyebrow and pulled out a Golden Snitch. "We're supposed to be practicing with Muggle golf balls, since it's so dark, but if you're as good as they say, it shouldn't be a problem for you, should it?." He smirked and released the snitch into the air without giving Draco a chance to respond.

Giving Flint a quick Malfoy glare, Draco took off on his broom, eyes focused on the flash of gold near one of the center goalposts. He swooped up from under the snitch, pulling on the broomstick and urging the broom as fast as it could go. He could feel the wind whipping his hair and robes back as he skyrocketed upward and snagged the walnut-sized ball with nifty fingers. Draco turned back to Flint with a smirk at the older boy's stunned expression. "Nope, not a problem at all," he gloated.

The Quidditch captain grinned. "That was some nice flying, Malfoy. Fly like that during the games and that Quidditch cup is ours."

"Of course," Draco sniffed, landing back onto the ground. "It was never anyone else's in the first place."

"That's the spirit," Flint said, clapping Draco's shoulder a little harder than necessary. "Now, do that again a few more times and we'll call a day."

xXxXxXx

A 'few more times' turned out to be somewhere in the thirties; Draco had giving up on keeping count once he hit twenty four. Flint had finally got up from the spot on the field where he had been comfortably lounging as he watched and yelled at Draco to catch the snitch faster so they could go back to the castle before it got too dark.

Curfew was still a few hours away, however, and it was that thought that kept Draco on his broom even though he was dead tired and was barely staying upright. He still hadn't come up with a plan to get even with either Harry or that annoying mudblood...

BAM!

"If you're too tired to fly, you shouldn't. That crash had enough force to break your neck, if you didn't know." Speak of the Devil.

"What are _you_ doing out here?" Draco spat, picking himself up from the ground and trying to look sophisticated even though he was covered in mud and sweat. He made a quick mental note not to plot and fly at the same time in the future.

"Looking for Harry, is he here?" Granger asked bossily, as if it was blatantly obvious.

"And why exactly would you look for him here?" Draco was dirty, tired, and though he'd never admit it, lonely, which wasn't helping him curb the impatience in his tone.

"He said something about going flying and that I'd find him here," she replied, frowning as she scanned the field. "But since you two are fighting — which _I_ think is ridiculous — I suppose he's not here."

"Why do you think it's ridiculous?" Draco couldn't help asking. Even most of the Slytherins didn't notice there was something wrong and those who did didn't care and hoped that this was their chance to suck up to the Malfoy heir.

"Honestly!" she exclaimed, rolling her eyes, much to Draco's annoyance. "You're ruining your friendship over a _Quidditch Position_! Harry misses you — Merlin knows _why_ — and I'll bet anything that you're the same!"

Draco scoffed at the bushy-haired girl's outburst. "He's ignored me since, Granger. I think that qualifies as _not misssing me_."

"He's being stubborn because he thinks you don't care. If you just apologized for whatever you did wrong and talked it out with him, he'd probably apologize for what he did wrong as well."

Hermione waited silently as Draco mulled over her words. He really didn't want to listen to the theiving mudblood's advice, but he couldn't spot any ulterior motives she might have had so he nodded cautiously and said "I'll think about it", causing Hermione to smile.

"I'm glad you see reason. It's been dreadful to see Harry so depressed all the time. He thinks he can hide it but he's not very good at lying for a Slytherin." She started to walk back to the castle.

"Granger!" She turned, "Don't tell anyone about my crash."

"Not even Harry?" she asked. It was too dark for Draco to read the expression on her face.

"Especially Harry."

Granger hesitated but nodded. "I won't."

"You better not."

She smirked at that. "Of course not. Gryffindor, remember?" And with that, she left Draco standing alone in the dark, with only his discombobulated thoughts for company.

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><p>AN: Review! Review! Review!


	5. I Show Your Heart's Desire

Disclaimer: JKR, Warner Bros, etc owns all. All direct text is from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.

A/N: Sorry about this delay. I was busy trying to get chapters for my other fic out, and then there was a delay with my beta, and then I had several projects and events in RL I had to direct/go to/etc. So this is late. My apologies. Many thanks to Departuregirl for Beta-ing and the Chatzy girls for helping me fix some holes in the plot.

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><p><em>Chapter Five — I Show Your Heart's Desire, However Forgotten It May Be<em>

"Harry, listen to me!"

"Why should I? You went and talked to _him_ about me!" Harry huffed, storming away from the library where he had been writing in his journal and Hermione had been reading until Madam Pince had kicked them out after Harry started shouting.

"I was only trying to help!" Hermione called, struggling to keep up. This was quite a difficult feat, seeing as she was, as usual, weighed down by the stack of books in one arm.

"Why did you go out on the pitch anyway?" Harry demanded.

"I was looking for you and he crashed into the grass right in front of me," said Hermione.

"He crashed?" Harry asked, his next step faltering and breaking his rhythm.

Hermione smiled smugly. "See? You _do_ care about him."

"I...I just wanted to say the prat deserves it if he gets hurt," Harry lied. It sounded false even to his own ears.

Hermione just kept smiling like she won a grand prize of a thousand galleons and pranced away, "Sure, Harry, if that's what you think."

"Where are you going?" he yelled after her.

"Don't worry your head over me," she said, giggling over her shoulder as she left. "Go back to Slytherin!"

Harry sighed in annoyance and ran a hand though his unruly hair. There seemed to be so much excess time on his hands these days, ever since his fight with Draco. Hermione did spend time with him, but her idea of fun was studying and learning. To be honest, Harry did enough of that during class. He was beginning to hate the library. It was ironic, because since it was the only place Draco and his cronies weren't taking over, he fought to stay there as long as he could.

Hermione seemed to be a bit distant as well. She was always hurrying away somewhere. Sometimes she made excuses and other times, like today, she just told him to go back to the Slytherin dorms. How she could believe that he and Draco would become friends again if they would just willingly be in the same room, Harry would never know. It was probably one of those things only Hermione could understand.

Despite Hermione's instructions once again to go back to Slytherin territory, Harry stayed on the second floor, wandering about. Going back to the Slytherin common room meant facing Draco, or even Crabbe and Goyle, who were most likely still confused but ready to kick his arse for annoying Draco. They had been looking at him quite threateningly earlier today during Transfiguration. It definitely wasn't safe to go back to the common room until it was absolutely necessary.

He came by a slightly opened door as he walked down the hallway. Harry let his curiosity take over and peeked inside. It looked like an unused classroom. The dark shapes of desks and chairs were piled against the walls, and there was an upturned wastepaper basket. He gave a little shrug and was about to leave when a glitter of a reflective surface on the opposite wall caught his eye. Turning back around and walking into the classroom, Harry realized the object was a mirror. And what a magnificent mirror it was, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi._ Harry approached the mirror, wondering at the incongruity of the inscription. He stepped in front of it.

He had to clap his hands to his mouth to stop himself from screaming. He whirled around. His heart was pounding furiously — for he had not seen only himself in the mirror, but a whole crowd of people standing right behind him.

But the room was empty. Breathing very fast, he turned slowly back to the mirror.

There he was, reflected in it, white and scared-looking, and there, reflected behind him, were at least ten others. Harry looked over his shoulder — but still, no one was there. Or were they all invisible? He looked into the mirror again. A woman standing right behind his reflection was smiling at him and waving. He reached out a hand and felt the air behind him. IF she was really there, he'd touch her, their reflections were so close together, but he felt only air — she and the others existed only in the mirror.

She was a very pretty woman. She had dark red hair and her eyes — _her __eyes __are __just __like __mine,_ Harry thought, edging a little closer to the glass. Bright green — exactly the same shape, but then he noticed that she was crying; smiling, but crying at the same time. The tall, thin, black-haired man standing next to her put his arm around her. He wore glasses, and his hair was very untidy. It stuck up at the back, just as Harry's did.

"Mum?" he whispered. "Dad?"

Harry was so close to the mirror now that his nose was nearly touching his reflection — a reflection, which, he realized was taller than him. He studied it. It was not nearly as lanky and thin as he was now, but muscled and was filled out nicely. His face was less soft and childlike; the reflection was that of a man, rather than a child, Harry realized, it was around twenty, perhaps.

Harry looked back at them and then at the other people even farther back into the mirror. He saw other pairs of green eyes like his, other noses like his, even a little old man who looked as though he had Harry's knobbly knees — Harry was looking at his family, for the first time in his life. The Potters smiled and waved at Harry and he stared hungrily back at them, his hands pressed flat against the glass as though he was hoping to fall right through it and reach them

Someone else was walking up to his reflection from behind the crowd. A pale, pointy, blond man that was taller than the eighteen-year-old-Harry. "_Draco_?" Harry murmured, staring wide-eyed as reflection-Draco came up behind reflection-Harry and wrapped his arms around him. Harry's heart clenched as he watched reflection-Draco peck reflection-Harry on the cheek, who snuggled back into the embrace. It all seemed so confusing since they were both boys and fighting, at that, but as Harry watched the two reflections interact he couldn't help but think it was all so sweet and wonderful. He nearly stopped breathing when he caught two matching bands on their fingers. _We__'__re __married?_

Did the mirror show the future? Was that its magic? No, it couldn't be. His parents were dead. Harry had a powerful kind of ache inside him, half joy, half terrible sadness. He was thrilled at seeing his family, whom he had never had the chance to meet, and he felt this longing at seeing his older self cuddle with Draco. How long he stood there, he didn't know. The reflections did not fade and he looked and looked until a distant noise brought him back to his senses. He thought about staying longer even though it was just about curfew, but he decided against it. He didn't want to get caught. He tore his eyes away from the mirror, whispered, "I'll come back," and hurried from the room.

xXxXxXx

Draco stared at the dark green journal in his lap. Granger had came up to him just a few hours before, bombarding him with questions about why he hadn't done anything about Harr. When he'd answered — truthfully — that he didn't believe Harry still cared, she had thrust the journal into his hands.

"It's Harry's," she'd said, "He was writing in it and hadn't locked it yet when I grabbed it. Now you'll see what Harry thinks of you!" He'd taken the journal cautiously, eyeing her for any falsehood. She stared right back, proudly and steadfastly. "Well, read it!" she'd exclaimed.

And read it he did. He read every entry, from the day he'd given Harry said journal as a gift to that very morning. There were records of the strange dreams Harry kept talking about, the ones where they weren't friends and Harry was a Gryffindor. But those entries had become less and less; the journal was increasingly filled with entries about their friendship, among a few other random things. The first entries were written so adoringly and obsessively Draco had to fight back a chuckle now and then as he read. Then all of a sudden, the journal entries switched directions. Instead of gushing about how thoughtful Draco was to give Harry clothes that fit better than Dudley's hand-me downs or to help him study, they consisted of rants and comments about how Draco was ignoring him and how much it hurt. There was only one remotely happy entry in the section, and even that had ended with a little rant about Draco:

_I made a new friend. Not an underling, as the other Slytherins would probably consider her, but a real friend. Today I asked Hermione Granger to help me with schoolwork — she's very smart. I don't know why, but I had this instinct that she would be a good friend. Maybe it's one of those weird dreams again. I haven't had any of those recently; actually, I can't remember most of the old ones at all. I guess it was just a sixth sense, you know? I hope we'll be good friends. It's really horrible, not having any friends in my house. Ever since my argument with Draco — well, they've abandoned me. It reminds me of people back in Primary School. No one ever wanted to be my friend, and it was all because of Dudley. I'm not sure I could handle Draco's rejection; it hurts more because now I _know_ what it's like to have a friend. All I wanted was for him to apologize; what he did wasn't fair. But if he never really considered me a friend, then why would he care if it was fair? I don't even know why it hurts so much to lose Draco. Maybe because he's my first friend, but I don't think that's it. I feel like there's something at the back of my mind that I just can't grasp._

Draco ran his thumb over the leather cover again before sighing and letting his head drop backwards with a groan. He wanted his best mate back badly but for that he'd have to — Draco gulped — apologize. To be honest, Draco wasn't sure how to apologize. The only people he had ever said the word 'sorry' to were his parents, and that was only because he was expected to and it wasn't beneficial for them to be angry with him, _not_ because he actually was sorry. Draco wasn't even sure if he was sorry now. He felt bad for not thinking of his friend — and couldn't he already hear his father's voice in his head berate him about it — but to feel _sorry_… Draco sighed. He'd never had reason to be sorry for anything in his life. His mother and father were strict, but they had always doted on him. His father had taught him that a Malfoy never bowed down to someone, to never admit they were wrong unless it benefited them. Crabbe and Goyle were always happily obedient and never questioned him. Pansy might have pouted a time or two when she didn't get her way but there was no regret attached. Blaise was like a brother but they had never played together as much he did the others, so any arguments they had wouldn't be important enough for Draco to even contemplate whose fault it was — he always assumed it was Blaise's, for the record.

But then again, none of those people had been Harry. Draco was so pleased to find a friend who was just so _like_ him, something Pansy and Blaise had never been and Vince and Greg would never even come close to. Harry was so ambitious, always trying to prove himself. He was independent, with few true friends, not unlike Draco. Draco wanted that back. He wanted someone who would sneak out at night with him, someone who followed him even though it was clear he couldn't be bossed around. He wanted someone who would listen to him talk and make appropriate responses. He wanted to see that happy, wonder-filled spark in green eyes. Draco missed Harry.

Taking a deep breath, Draco resolved to apologize, trying to swallow his pride despite all his father's teachings and his confusion about his feelings. Harry ought to be worth it. He had better be.

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